Of Politics and Adoration
by Keketra
Summary: Though he never really says anything to the others, Edmund understands Susan's miraculous 'forgetting' of Narnia more than he'll let on... {Post Prince Caspian}


**Of Politics and Adoration**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, as always.

Though he never really says anything to the others, Edmund understands Susan's miraculous 'forgetting' of Narnia more than he'll let on. One night, when they are both quietened from the fire of mother's hearth, and made happy by the simple sipping of cocoa, when Peter and Lucy are out visiting a jazz club not too far away, they talk. Their voices are low, not quite loud enough for someone outside the room to hear, but loud enough for the both of them.

They start with quiet confessions, with Susan's tearful laughter, and Edmund's sheepish embarrassment. It doesn't take long, though, before the memories are quick firing in all directions – 'Do you remember', and 'what about the time' and 'what ever happened to the Galvan Duchess?'. They are both giddy with it; with the joy of remembering, with the happiness of just… _being_. A weight has been lifted, it seems, and Susan is more animated in those hours than she has been in a very long time.

It is well after midnight when Peter and Lucy return, and when they do, Susan smiles at them in a way she hasn't for quite some time, and Edmund looks a lot more carefree than he has been for a while, though he refuses to tell his siblings quite why – having sworn secrecy to his older sister.

It feels almost wrong to not tell Peter and Lucy – Peter especially. But Edmund knows that Peter would only get annoyed, that his older brother would put on the hat of self-righteousness that seems to come so quickly to him here in England… for Peter, it seems another version of protection; but it is one that Edmund surely hates.

Despite himself, though, Edmund understands.

The next morning, Peter and Lucy arise to the strains of a Narnian song, sung in both tenor and soprano, weaving through each other as they hail the new morning. Rushing down stairs, almost tripping over themselves in uncharacteristic teenage clumsiness, the two stare. Edmund and Susan are sitting together, with Susan strumming what looks like a type of guitar, the song weaving between them quite happily.

"By jove," Peter murmurs, and all at once, the spell is broken. Susan lets out a cry of recognition, almost dropping the instrument, and stands up. Edmund reaches a hand out to stop her, then quickly draws back, with a sigh. He watches with a look akin to disappointment as his sister rushes past Lucy and Peter, up the stairs and into her bedroom with a bang of the door behind her. Peter looks to Edmund, hurt sparkling in those blue eyes, and his brother sighs, standing up and moving over, placing a gentle hand to Peter's shoulder.

"It's nothing you've done, Pete." He promises, but the words sound empty.

In truth, it is _everything _that Peter has done. Or more specifically, not done.

In Narnia, whenever there were delegations for Susan's hand, whenever she nearly created a war whilst flirting (and sometimes, even talking) to an Ambassador, or even a King, Peter was always there to smooth over the hurt. Sometimes they went to war; sometimes it was managed so such a thing didn't come to pass. Either way, Susan's conduct – much as the same as her siblings', mind you, has caused conflict. _This_ is what Edmund and Susan's talks are about, those late nights where words are many and comfort is few. They don't talk so much about the wars, about the anguish of a decision that could lead to an entire race's extinction – no. Their talks are based on personal matters; matters of the heart, and, as Peter might have put it in not so kind a tone, matters of the mind.

Susan remembers taking lovers when she turned twenty, remembers the horrid aftermath when she realised her forced betrothal to a Telmarine warrior. Edmund remembers being coerced into bed by the Duchess of Galma, remembers having to concede; if only to avoid war. All these and more, they both remember, but they do not tell Peter – have never told Peter – and by conquest and accusation, have never (and will never) tell Lucy. After all, the two are the same; Lucy automatically follows Peter's lead – more so here than in Narnia – and the retribution Peter might show if their _underhanded politics_ are brought to light is too much to think of.

So, whilst Edmund might desperately wish to have Susan back completely as she was – both Gentle and Queen – he greedily takes what he can, these late night talks and remembrances, and keeps them for himself. The divide causes more issues than it solves – Peter becomes distant and hurt, puzzled by Edmund's preferences to Susan rather than he for talking, and Lucy takes to attempting (and mostly failing – she is not as sneaky as she once was) to listen in on her siblings' conversations.

Still though, it is better to hide than to tell – at least in these instances – for neither the Valiant nor the Magnificent can learn of Narnia's darker deeds. Oh, Peter knew they existed; but somewhere deep in Narnia's history – certainly not under his own rule, in his own Castle.

No, Peter and Lucy will never know, and that is why Edmund – despite the look of hurt that Peter gives the stairs as he tries to convince Susan to come with them to meet Jill and Eustace at the handing over of the Rings – refuses to divulge Susan's secrets. And as the train tumbles into darkness, Edmund finds himself rather glad; glad that discretion, at last, has paid off, and that one sibling, if nothing else, will be safe.

**A Note: **I told myself I'd have a break from Narnia; but this piece had been bugging me for a while, so I caved in. Gentle and dear readers, your thoughts would be much appreciated.


End file.
